


Fame in the Fast Lane

by NocturnLily



Series: Different City, Same Shit [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Betrayal, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Gang Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Mutual Pining, Organized Crime, Partner Betrayal, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Romantic Fluff, Seduction to the Dark Side, Street Racing, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnLily/pseuds/NocturnLily
Summary: The Saints have quickly become a household name. With Vogel dethroned, controlling Ultor opens up a wealth of doors and their influence explodes well beyond Stilwater's city limits. Véronique has become one of the faces of the Row, pursuing a career in music under the gang's new label, and finds she wants to spread her wings into a new city.Unfortunately, history has a tendency of repeating itself.[set between the events of SR2 and 3]
Relationships: Angel De LaMuerte/Original Character(s), Angel De LaMuerte/Original Female Character(s), Killbane/Original Character(s), Killbane/Original Female Character(s), Male Boss (Saints Row)/Original Female Character(s), Male Boss/Shaundi (Saints Row), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Pierce Washington/Original Character(s), Shaundi (Saints Row)/Original Character(s)
Series: Different City, Same Shit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707586
Kudos: 3





	Fame in the Fast Lane

**_> > club koi. u in?_ **

**** **** **_yeah let me finish up, see u in 15 <<_ **

Véronique laid her phone face-down on the desk, rubbing the artificial glow of her computer screen out of her eyeballs. The numbers at the top of her phone read 7:28, but the windows of Ultor's studios made it feel so much later in the evening. The stylized sunburst, plastered everywhere she looked, spun in faux-3D space in front of her. It made her head hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have stayed so late, but parades of corporate meetings had eaten away valuable time, and there were deadlines to meet.

There were _always_ deadlines to meet.

Despite the roomy accommodations, the heat of studio equipment finally caught up to her. Deep, eggplant hair, hanging freely just past her shoulders, was pulled and wrangled into a hasty ponytail before she made her way down and out. The lobby was expansive, but she didn't miss the subtle movement from a sharp-cut security man at the far door. He made a quiet call in his earpiece, probably for the valet.

She was offered a short nod, ten paces out. "Your car is being brought for you now, miss Gat."

" 'preciate it."

Right on time. As he held the door and muttered a quiet, "Yes ma'am, have a good night," a young man in a lavender suit climbed out of a vehicle parked at the curb. Her chosen ride about town, a custom Hammerhead, was her pride and joy. It was purple hell on wheels, with a candy finish and an engine rumble you felt deep in your bones. The sight alone elicited a sigh, and any tension coiled in her shoulders physically fell away as she sat in the cushy driver's seat.

What the hell, she could use a good spin on the way there.

The sun already settled below the horizon line, but it left a beautiful backdrop of fiery oranges and pinks in its wake beneath rain clouds rolling in. The streets stood washed in hazy twilight, warming the otherwise sterile-white buildings that quickly faded to grey, worn neighborhoods that zoomed past. She wasn't paying attention and, as she cranked it into fourth, ripped through the passenger tires of a police vehicle. Whoopsie.

Tires squealed through the streets of Stilwater and, finally, into the Red Light district as she made her getaway. By the time Véronique found a spot and made her way into the club, her screen flashed 8:05. Definitely later than she intended to be. A pang of guilt flared up as Pierce's name popped up, again, soon after.

**_> > yo, where are u_ **

The phone was shoved unceremoniously into her jeans pocket. Bathed in a halo of blue and purple neon, bass kicks hummed through her chest as she made her way in. She was feeling thirsty after her joyride — if they waited for her this long, they could wait a little longer, right? The bar looked good after its renovation. It felt sturdier, she noted, as she propped against it with her elbows.

It was notably warmer, here, between bodies and hot lights. She cooled considerably after unzipping her hoodie, shedding it to wrap the arms around her waist. A tanktop suited her better, anyhow, and she licked her lips at the whiskey and coke set in front of her. The song pumping through the speakers above had slipped into something more plinky and bright, and she bobbed her head as the tempo worked up to the drop. She grinned — it was one of hers.

"Bout time you showed up." The voice suddenly at her ear was familiar, but it startled her all the same. She laughed, drink in hand as she turned. Pierce grinned down at her, his arm hovering over her shoulders pre-emptively. Snaking an arm round his waist, the pair settled into each other as he led her up the stairs. "What took you so long, Vee?"

The speakers were closer, now. She had to lean up and into him to be heard, and he craned down. "Long day."

His lips were close to the shell of her ear. "Joyriding?"

Véronique nodded and felt him laughing more than heard it. They took their time getting to the VIP lounge, snaking around clusters of people dancing and drinking. Despite the pulsing bass and crowds, there was a sudden, sobering moment that made her fingers curl reflexively into Pierce's side. It was barely a year, now, that the Saints took Stilwater for their own; a full year of hard work, sniffing out the last rivaling remnants and really, _truly_ marking the city as theirs. She couldn't remember the last time she walked through the Koi and wasn't ready for someone to gun she and hers into the walls.

Pierce was privy to none of these thoughts but tugged her closer anyway. It was grounding, comforting, and she offered him a thankful half-grin as they passed the doorman. Not a soul in the lounge was without their colours, and it was all she could do to keep her smile from splitting her face completely. The feeling of absolute safety — of _security_ — was a hell of a thing.

A round table closest to the window was their designated spot, where Johnny, Shaundi, and the Boss were already waiting. Véronique didn't miss the stares boring into the pair of them. Johnny was the first to speak up with a very accusatory, "You're lookin' fuckin' cozy," but she knew there was no venom behind it. A pair of fingers gestured to her to come closer, and Véronique slipped from Pierce's side to lock the other lieutenant in an embrace around his neck.

"Hey kiddo," he hummed, returning the hug. "How was work today?"

"Fuckin' exhausting," she whined. "Execs all up my ass about the tour and other shit."

"You ain't happy about the tour?" Johnny released her, frowning, as she took up a seat between him and Shaundi.

"Sure I am, but I'm tryna make sure they got somethin' to push, and these assholes are knockin' down my door." Her voice took on a deeper, mocking tone. " _There was a meeting yesterday_ and _We've been trying to call you_ , and it's just fuckin' annoying—"

"It is pretty fuckin' annoying," Shaundi interjected, a grin creeping over her as she finished Véronique's quip, "when you don't actually answer your phone."

"But I've been _busy!_ "

"Doing what, deep-throating the mic? Jesus, Vee, we hardly see you anymore. Ain't that right, Boss?"

Véronique pantomimed a mic and thoroughly choking on it, teasingly, as Boss looked between his lieutenants. He closed his grey eyes a moment, shaking his head with a grin before taking a nursing sip at something electric blue in his glass.

"She's working hard at something she's wanted for a long time—" Shaundi groaned. "—and it's something we can use for expansion."

"Gotta admit, it's been nice bein' able to kick back and enjoy our shit."

Véronique's grin turned self-satisfied, saluting Pierce with her glass. "Exactly."

If Johnny shared the sentiment, he didn't show it. His expression was unreadable and his arms crossed tightly over the table; the only thing that drew attention to his silence was Boss, who watched him thoughtfully.

"You're not happy with your sister's success?"

"Course I am, she's happy." Johnny turned. "You're happy, right?"

"I mean, yeah-"

"Okay, then."

Music bumped clumsily through the silence settling between them all. Véronique's chest tightened, exhaling hard through her nose — she wouldn't pretend she didn't know where this irritation was coming from, and this wasn't the first time Johnny's temper fell sour about it. He was getting better, they weren't neck-deep in shouting matches anymore, but he was never one to give up without a fight. Véronique let a palm fall heavy over the surface of their table, rattling everyone's drinks as she pushed herself up.

"Aight, come on."

Johnny only marginally turned his head to her. "What?"

"Come on."

"Why?"

"I'm hungry, and you're comin' with me."

"The fuck I am."

"Freckle Bitch's, I'm paying."

Shaundi and Pierce both raised eyebrows at that, chiming in with, "Can we come?" to which they were met with a flat, "No," from Johnny. Boss chuckled, tossing back the last of his drink and tipping the rim of his empty tumbler to the grumpy lieutenant.

"I'll see you two later. Ideally alive, but I won't hold my breath."

Johnny hissed a breath from his nose at the dismissal. Véronique tamped down the urge to grin triumphantly, unwilling to stoke his irritation any further. He did, however reluctantly, allow her to slip an arm around his as they made their way down and out of the club. Out here, the smell of hot sweat and liquor fell quickly to oil slicks and wet garbage. She hurriedly tugged at the hoodie round her waist, using it as weak shelter from the rain. Johnny didn't even bother, stepping out from under the neon-washed awning and taking a presumptive direction down the sidewalk. He said something, but his voice was lost to the metro rattling over the rails above them.

"—I said, where did you park?" he yelled.

"Just keep going, I'm around the corner." His stride was quicker when he was upset, and Véronique struggled to match the pace.

Before they even reached the car, Johnny held out a hand behind him with fingers splayed and expectant. Her keys jingled lightly as she tossed them his way. The Hammerhead was her baby, but she'd let him have this. He loved to feel the power of an engine beneath him when he needed to think, and Johnny was the only other soul she'd trust behind her wheel. Véronique made a mental note to swing by the Dome at some point — her tires wouldn't survive the both of them peeling out of places, and she hadn't seen her mechanic, Dominic, for at least two weeks. Even her regular visits to Rim Jobs was on the decline, no thanks to work.

Sommerset was shrouded in mist by the time they rolled up. Light from the Freckle Bitch's sign diffused in the rainfall, casting a muted halo over the parking lot. It was coming down harder, now, forcing them into drive-thru to avoid the worst of it. The smell of cheap fast food filled the closed cab as they hunkered down in a parking spot; Véronique fished out a burger, tearing open the half-greasy wrapper.

"You wanna tell me what's eating you this time?" She crammed nearly a quarter of the too-large burger into her mouth, and it puffed into her cheeks as she worked through the bite. Johnny, on the other hand, shoveled a fistful of fries as he thought about his answer. She knew what it was, but she wanted him to say it. Her phone pinged in her pocket, but she ignored it for now. "Johnny?"

He remained quiet, and Véronique didn't like the way her gut fluttered uncomfortably. Being this contemplative, even over food? Ordinarily, he wasted no time letting his thoughts fly when it was just them. Maybe she didn't know what was bothering him, after all. Somehow, that was worse.

"You like this new life?" Johnny's voice was strained, like he was picking his words carefully. "Where shit's going?"

It felt like a loaded question, but it was too vague. "Whaddia mean?"

He looked at her, now, brows furrowed again behind his glasses. She watched his jaw clench as he waited for her answer, and she took a purposely-long sip of her drink to let the silence hang in the air. That fluttering was fighting its way up her throat and she was having trouble deciding whether to placate him or be honest. Knowing him, though, he'd see through the bullshit.

"... kinda, yeah." Johnny's lips tightened but he waited for her to continue. "I mean, it's taken a lot of hard work to get here, Johnny. Is it really so bad to enjoy it?"

"That's not what I'm asking."

"What _are_ you asking?"

There was a sound of exasperation as he twisted to face forward; another fistful of fries went in before he spoke again.

"This whole brand deal with Ultor that Luca's been talking about—" He almost never used Boss's name. It made Véronique sit up straighter. "—what he's been _pushing_ for, it's fine or whatever. But it doesn't feel _right_ , Vee, it doesn't—"

She was beginning to understand.

"You think the price is too steep."

"It's not just that, it's hopping into bed with the same assholes that tried to bury us! That buried the Row in their—" Johnny threw his hands against the steering wheel in frustration. "—in their squeaky clean bullshit! And now they wanna play nice?"

"It helps when you fuck 'em raw like we did." Véronique grinned, hoping he'd at least chuckle. He didn't.

"They're _snakes,_ Vee! And I dunno 'bout you, but I don't got the goddamn _patience_ for any more of that shit."

Her smile fell, hearing the pain cracking into his voice.

"... have you run any of this by him?"

"No," was the flat response. "He's been too 'busy'—" Johnny threw up air quotes as he scowled. "—and so have _you_."

"Now wait a minute—"

The words came out before she processed the full weight of what he said, and all Véronique could do was stare at him open-mouthed. The choked pause told her that he hadn't meant to be so bluntly hard, but Johnny made no move to backpedal. They sat in heavy silence, and all she could hear was the blood pounding angrily in her ears. Thunder rumbled above them, low and long and close, as rain fell thicker still.

"Now wait a minute," she said again, a sharp, pained edge to her voice. "That's not fair and you _know_ _it_. Do you _really fuckin' think_ I'm sittin' on my hands for the _goddamn fun of it?_ " It was her turn to be upset, and Johnny set his jaw again.

"Kinda looks that way."

"I have been busting my _ass_ , Johnny!"

He had no argument for that, and they both knew it. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she took a very angry sip from her drink to keep them from growing any fatter.

"Luca's tryna make sure what happened with Julius never fuckin' happens again."

Johnny's scowl hardened. "That's the problem — Julius happened cause he was playin' diplomat to get himself ahead and leave _us_ to rot, and all I see is Luca playin' that same hand and you falling right in line behind him."

The accusation left her absolutely floored, and there was no hiding it. Any response she tried to summon was strangled by the knot in her throat, and she was saved the effort when her phone pinged again. Johnny scoffed.

"Speak of the devil."

"Shut the fuck up," she hissed, her tone quiet and squeaky as she dug the device out with a not-greasy hand. "It's Pierce, you dick, he's checking to make sure we're alright."

"We're not."

"No, you're goddamn right we're not!" Véronique's voice rose a half octave and cracked with the effort. "Cause I'm tryna figure out how you can say you're happy for me when you think... _fuck_ , all of this!"

"Am I wrong?"

"YES." She threw her half-eaten burger into its paper bag, and Johnny's brow tightened. "I've wanted this for so long, and you _know it!_ Eesh was the one who got me my first modulator, for fuck's sake—"

"Don't—"

"No, _you_ don't! Fuck-" Véronique pinched her lips together, pawing hard at her eyes. "You know what, just make sure you bring the car back in one piece. I'm goin' home."

"Vee, you ain't goin' nowhere in this weather."

She was already tugging her hood up tight, fingers curled around the door handle, when she felt Johnny's fingers dig into the fabric of her arm.

"Vee, come on, I ain't letting you walk-"

"I'm not gonna sit here and take this—" She said that, but made no move to leave with him still attached to her. They sat like that for what felt way too long before keys jingled again, and Véronique burrowed her back into the seat as the engine roared to life. Johnny pulled out slowly from the parking lot, and she didn't bother wiping the grease smears as she clicked away at the keyboard on the screen.

_**> >everything ok?** _

_**> >you been gone a while** _

_**yeah, had a big fight <<** _

Her eyes flicked up, fingers hovering as she tried to figure out what direction they were headed.

_**going to the frat house, don't wanna be  
in the car rn<<** _

_**> >want some company?** _

_**pls <<** _

_**> >see u soon** _

**Author's Note:**

> WELP, I didn't mean to go for angry OR sad right out the gate but here we are lmao. Johnny's a good bro, but not so great at saying what he really means when he's upset and stewing about it. Lotsa baggage, lots of emotion under the surface, so ofc the best way to deal with that is to get food and yell about it! Yeehaw.


End file.
